


The Price of Love

by thatonehiddenbladeingibraltar



Category: Assassin's Creed, Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-04-29
Updated: 2017-04-29
Packaged: 2018-10-25 10:34:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10762503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatonehiddenbladeingibraltar/pseuds/thatonehiddenbladeingibraltar
Summary: You're Haytham's lover and you attend his funeral. Throughout the entire service, you think about how much of an impact Haytham had on your life.





	The Price of Love

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own anything except for the story. Please do not copy or credit this as your own.

You look up to see gray clouds slowly rolling across the sky as a soft tug at your skirt alerts you back to the ground.

“Are we there yet, Mama?” Your daughter asks as she pulls at the black sleeves of her dress.

“We’re almost there, sweetheart.” You tell her as the church finally comes into view.

“Is Papa there?” She inquires and you want to wail in anguish right there, spectators or no.

“Yes, he is, sweetheart. Yes, he will be.” You reply softly as you lead both you and your daughter into the church. As the priest began speaking, you glance down at her and examine her features. Y/D/N had her father’s hair, nose, and cheekbones, but everything else resembled you. However, you could’ve sworn that there was a small hint of Haytham Kenway behind those E/C irises.

“Did Papa go somewhere?” Your daughter whispers faintly amongst your thoughts and you pull yourself out long enough to hear rain being to fall outside the church.

“Yes. He’s somewhere safe and he’s happy.” You answer and she settles back into the wood and starts to play with a loose thread on her dress.

You manage to pry your eyes to the coffin behind the priest and try not to tear up in front of the small crowd gathered inside the church. You remember when you first met Haytham after he had returned from London from whatever horrors he had endured on his mission, the night he took you to the opera as a sign of courtship. Memories of informing him of your pregnancy with your daughter and him holding her a few hours after you had given birth, her wails echoing inside the room as the sun rose higher into the sky. However, you could never recall a time when he told you what business he truly had with an organization under a red cross.

Somehow you find a way to separate your thoughts from reality once again for the third time today as a gentle tap on your shoulder draws you back and the mellow footsteps surround you. You turn around slightly and you see Charles Lee, Haytham’s right-hand, stand behind you with a concerned look on his face.

“Y/N?” Charles asks and your daughter takes a hold of your hand.

“Yes, Charles?” You inquire as you try to shake off your grief for a moment.

“Do you need accompanying back to your home? I wouldn’t mind sparing a bit of my time to help out.” He offers and you smile but shake your head gently.

“No, it’s okay Charles. Thank you for your generous offer though.” You answer. “Come on, Y/D/N. Let’s go.”

“Yes, Mama.” Y/D/N replies and you escort the two of you out of the church as the rain begins to fully pour.

* * *

You dust your hands off after lighting a fire in the fireplace of your parlor.

“Is the hot chocolate ready yet, Mama?” Y/D/N inquires as she plays around with a doll that you remember Haytham gifting her on her fifth birthday.

“Not yet, darling. Anna will let me know when it’s done, alright?” You tell her as a rap on your front door takes your attention away from your daughter. “Stay here, okay?”

“Okay, Mama.” Y/D/N replies and resumes playing with her doll as you answer the front door. In front of you stood a tall Mohawk man with a bow and quiver on his back and an insignia on his belt that resembled an A, slightly damp with rain.

“Y/N L/N?” He asks.

“Yes, that’s me. Who are you?” You answer hesitantly.

“My name is Connor. I believe we have much to talk about. It concerns Haytham Kenway.” The man, Connor, responds.

“What was your business with Haytham?” You question as you clench a tight hand within your skirts.

“I’m his son.” He informs and you feel your heart drop into your stomach. But somewhere within you, you believe him. He had the same cheekbones as Haytham, the same nose and jaw as well. You glance over your shoulder at your daughter and you see the similarities there as well. This man, Connor, was truly Haytham’s son.

“Come on in then. We do have much to talk about.” You say and step to the side before closing the door on a cold rainy night.


End file.
